


No Backup

by madlaw



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon compliant IMHO, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lesbian Sex, Militia, Missions Gone Wrong, Rescue, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlaw/pseuds/madlaw
Summary: “Nothing is more important than the mission Sam.  If we all die, that leaves Harold and it’s over.  There’s too much at stake to risk it all for one person.”“It’s not just any person, it was you Root!”  Shaw shouts and slams the door on her way out.





	No Backup

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is...I intended to write a little plot with a lot of smut and ended up with a lot of plot and some smut. But sometimes that's just the way my brain works. *Smut's after the last line... ;p

Root’s been gone for several weeks and Shaw has no idea what’s going on.  She refuses to acknowledge she’s worried, but finally asks Finch about her whereabouts.  “Have you heard from Root?”

“No Ms. Shaw, most likely she’s on a relevant mission for the Machine.”  She thinks about leaving it at that, but something compels her to know more.  “It’s been months Finch; 11 weeks to be exact.”  She doesn’t want to think about why she knows the exact time frame.  “There could be a problem.”  Finch studies her.  He knows her relationship with Root is complicated; more than Shaw will admit.  He fears the day something happens to one of them.  He’s not sure the other will survive; at least intact.  So he asks the Machine.

“She’s off the grid.  The last time the Machine had contact she was in Mississippi.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Five weeks.”  She takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to tell Finch and the Machine what she thinks of their blasé attitude towards Root’s safety.  She is after all a member of their team; if it were Reese, Finch would have every asset he could think of working to find him.  “What was the mission?”

“There’s a group called the Radical Traditionalist Catholics, RTC.  They oppose, well, pretty much everything; they’re basically a right-wing terrorist group cloaking themselves with religion.  They’re trying to acquire biological material to bomb San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Los Angeles, and Austin.  Root is attempting to sabotage their efforts to acquire the material or, failing that, prevent the dirty bombs from being built or deployed.”

She stares at Finch so intently he shifts his eyes to the floor.  “So Root’s been gone for 11 weeks, chasing after a group intent on building a dirty bomb and neither you or the Machine think its cause for concern?  Because it sounds to me like one of our own is out there without backup.”

“There is one thing of which I am most certain Ms. Shaw. Root is not alone.”

“How naïve are you Finch?  The Machine hasn’t had contact with her in five weeks and you think she’s not alone?  Who precisely do you think is watching her back?”  Finch looks away and doesn’t reply because the answer is obvious; no one.

“Send me her last known coordinates.”

“Ms. Shaw…”

“Don’t.  I’m not leaving her out there.  You and the Machine may be willing to sacrifice her for some ‘greater good’ but I’m not.  Send me the coordinates and arrange a flight.  I expect the Machine to run interference so I can get weapons past security.”  She storms out to pick up said weapons from her loft.  She tells herself she’d do this for any member of her team, which is true.  But she doubts she’d feel the tightening in her chest and the turmoil in her mind.

 

* * *

 

Shaw adjusts the minuscule pillow and glances sidelong at the guy next to her in the window seat. Sweat glistens on his pale face and his hands grip the armrests so hard she’s surprised finger bones don’t bust through. His breath is choppy like he’d run a marathon. Great.  She ditches the pillow and switches on the TV, giving up the idea of sleep. She hopes they don’t hit air turbulence; something tells her this guy is a hurler. 

 

* * *

 

Almost five hours later they land at Jackson Evers Airport, the closest one to Flowood, population barely 8,000.  It’s where Root went off the grid.  Shaw rents a jeep and heads out; it’s only 20 minutes.  Although the population is small, Flowood seems to be a relatively modern town.  She wonders how such a place could shelter or not know about such a militant terrorist group in their midst; because that’s what they are…homegrown, but terrorists nonetheless.

She spends a few days trying to uncover information about the group.  It’s hopeless she’ll find someone who remembers Root because despite being a small town, 8,000 people is still a lot of people.  Then it occurs to her there’s one place Root would most certainly go; the coffee shop. 

She sips the last of her black coffee and gets up for more. Several teenage couples lean over cappuccinos at the bistro tables, while laughing groups crowd the booths at the back.  She takes a sip of her scalding coffee and doesn’t even register the burn.  She’s waiting for someone specific; someone the employees treat like a regular, knowing their name and drink order without asking.

After a couple of hours she spots a pretty woman with sage eyes and a sweet smile approaching the counter.  “Hi Amy, the usual?”  She studies her as she waits for her to grab her coffee.  She obviously works out, knotted lumps of muscle on her lean frame.  Before Root, she might’ve found her attractive.  But now all she can see is sharp planes and clear brown eyes; objectively speaking of course.

She steps in front of Amy just as she’s about to walk out of the café.  Amy smiles at her.  “Excuse me.” Shaw tries to look non-threatening, which isn’t easy for her on a good day.  Today, when she’s worried for Root and anxious to pick up a lead, it’s practically impossible.  “Look, my name is Shaw and I have a couple of questions and then you can be on your way.”  Her tone says ‘you don’t have a choice’ and her look says ‘I’ll hurt you if I have to.’

“Uh, sure.  Why don’t we grab a table?”  Amy’s not dumb; staying in the café guarantees her safety more than Shaw’s assurances.  They wait a few minutes for a table to become available again and Shaw studies her.  She seems sweet enough; but her bulk tells her she’s using steroids.  Her personal experience tells her there’s always something driving a person to pursue that type of body.

Although her focus has always been strength as opposed to bulging muscles, she knows Amy’s putting in a lot of hard work, even with the steroids.  But why?  If she can figure out her psyche, she’ll be that much closer to uncovering any information that may lead her to Root.

A table opens up and they walk over quickly before someone else snags it.  Shaw’s not sure showing a picture of Root to a stranger is prudent.  If Root’s cover isn’t blown then asking questions about her around town could get her killed.  “What do you know about RTC?”  If she weren’t looking for it she might’ve missed it, but Amy’s reaction, lasting only a second, makes one thing obvious; she’s afraid.

She makes to stand hastily but Shaw grips her wrist hard enough to keep her in her seat or risk a broken bone; that’s the difference between strength and training as opposed to muscle.  “Look I’m not here to hurt you, but I need some answers and I think you can help me.  Why are you afraid of them?”  Amy studies her for a minute and must see something she trusts because she begins to talk.

“I have extremely conservative parents and when I came out they were horrified.  They had me taken by force to a conversion therapy group run by them.  At first it was just a lot of psychobabble, but when I proved ‘resistant’ the ‘treatment’ became increasingly violent; electric shock and drugs.  They were starting to talk about a lobotomy.”  Amy’s visibly shaking and Shaw gives her a minute to compose herself.  “Those people are fanatics,” Amy hisses.  “They’re not just homophobic. They’re anti-Semitic, and racists, and bigots.”

“Where can I find them?”

Amy gives her an incredulous look and exhales sharply as she leans back in her chair.  “It‘s your funeral.  They have a chapel a few blocks from here, but that’s not where they conduct their ‘treatments’ or meetings.  All I can tell you is it’s about an hour outside of town in a pretty desolate area.  I was so drugged out when I escaped; I barely made it through the woods.  I passed out on the side of the road and some woman found me.  I woke up in the hospital.”

“When was this?”

“Almost three months ago.  Since then I’ve been making sure no one can take me against my will ever again.”

“Just one last question.  Why didn’t you report it to the police?”

“The mayor, police chief, and chief judge are all members.  There are probably a lot more who don’t declare it publicly.  I have to live here.  I don’t have money or anyone to help me.   I dropped out of high school to hide from my parents.  Not exactly a lot of good-paying jobs out there for a high school drop out.”

Shaw looks at her pensively.  “Look it’s your life, but the shit you’re shooting into your body isn’t going to help you in the long-run.  Stay off them and take up some kind of martial arts.”

“You’re right; it’s my life.”

 

* * *

 

“Finch, around three months ago a young woman, first name Amy, was admitted to a local hospital probably with psychotropic drugs in her system.  She was dropped off by a woman that may have been Root; see if you can get a picture and I need their route to the hospital.”

“This would’ve been faster, Ms. Shaw, if you’d gotten her last name.”

“If the Machine notified you five weeks ago when She lost contact with Root, this might not have been necessary _at all_ Finch,” she reminds him sarcastically.  “Besides she was skittish as hell; asking for too much personal information would’ve scared her off.”

“I’m sorry Ms. Shaw but there are no clear pictures of the driver.”  She actually finds the news encouraging; no way would Root let herself be captured on camera.  “I was only able to track them as far as the intersection of River Oaks and Layfair Drive.  They were headed west.”  She thinks for a minute.  “Okay, there’s a compound about an hour outside town surrounded by woods, if…”

“Found it Ms. Shaw.  I’ll text you the coordinates.”  She hangs up without another word.

 

* * *

 

The road isn’t just unmarked, it’s unpaved and overgrown.  If she weren’t driving a jeep she wouldn’t be able to use it.  But there is clearly a distinct path where other vehicles have come through.  But that also tells her she runs a risk of discovery if she can’t find a place to hide her jeep.  She’s going to have to trek in on foot.  Leave it to Root to disappear in the most inconvenient area possible.

She moves quickly but cautiously  through the woods.  She needs to get to the compound while there’s still daylight.  These anti-government types always have booby traps and she can’t disarm them if she can’t see them.  Her phone vibrates with a text.  Finch does have his uses.  It’s a general outline of the compound; probably from satellite pictures.  It doesn’t give her the inside layout, but it’s better than nothing.

She knows she’s getting close when she comes across the first booby trap, an air horn trip wire.  She expects they’ll get deadlier the closer she gets.  She steps over it and keeps going.  Fifty feet later she finds a sound grenade.  Clearly they’re trying to be forewarned of any penetration of their perimeter.  She navigates a spike pit trap, a swinging weight trap, and an explosion simulator, which is when she knows she’s pretty much arrived.

She finds a tree with low hanging branches and climbs up to get a little height.  Her military zoom binoculars give her a crystal clear view of the compound about 100 yards out.  It’s a chain link fence which will make sneaking in easier.  She can’t afford to alert them to her presence until she knows Root’s condition.  It’s possible she’s not here at all, but the feeling in her gut tells her otherwise. 

She spots guards patrolling outside the fence too, but taking one out would be too risky.  She has no idea of the interval between checks and it might alert them to her presence even sooner.  She’s going to have to wait until well after sundown.  She hunkers down.

 

* * *

 

No matter where you are in the world, 3am is the time when people are at their most vulnerable.  Even the night owls are asleep and those guarding are tired and less vigilant; bored really.  Shaw’s had this experience many times before; going in under cover of darkness, searching for a target, and getting out before anyone’s the wiser.  But she knows tonight won’t be that easy.  If Root’s still alive and here, she doubts she’ll be of much help.

She’s been moving slowly around the compound, tracking the guards; good old fashioned recon.  She sighs.  Root believes so absolutely in the Machine, she’s unnecessarily reckless with her life.  No matter how many times the Machine lets them down; Root still believes the next time and the time after that, until she’s yet again in trouble without backup.

She thinks she’s found where they may be holding her.  There are two guards posted and she saw a scrawny short guy with a swagger go in and out a couple of times.  He seems to be their leader or at least one of them; the guards were deferential and rolled their eyes once he was gone.

Getting into the compound turns out to be easier than she expected.  The woods behind the compound are so dense, there are no guards.  The only attempt at security is more sound grenades and a shallow spike pit.  It takes time, but getting caught is not an option, so she moves carefully until she’s behind the standalone concrete building.  Luckily the building is long and abuts the same woods so there’s nothing behind it; less chance of being spotted or surprised.  There’s also a better chance she won’t be heard.

She takes the diamond core drill from her pack and gets to work.  She stops every couple of minutes to make sure she hasn’t attracted any attention.  Hopefully there isn’t anybody on the other side of the wall.  Once the hole is big enough she uses her grappling hook gun, shooting it into the hole and releasing the hook on the other side.  Slowly, bracing her feet on the concrete wall, she pulls; until her shoulders feel like they’re pulling out of their sockets.  Then she pulls some more.  Gradually the concrete gives until its wide enough for her to crawl through.

She pushes her bag through the hole first, thinking if someone’s waiting on the other side, they’ll shoot at the bag; amidst the dust cloud it’s not easy to see.  When nothing happens she crawls through, gun drawn.  It takes a second for her brain to process what her eyes are seeing.  It’s quite literally a torture chamber.  No one’s in here but blood splatter is everywhere.

She takes a deep breath and focuses her mind on one thing.  Root.  The rest she’ll deal with later.

She listens at the door but it’s quiet.  Too quiet.  She eases the door open.  The corridor continues in front of her and to her left.  She turns left.  There’s only one room with a drop bar security bracket.  She clears the other rooms in the corridor before she goes back to it.  All she has to do is lift it, but once she does, the clock starts to run.  Anyone coming down the hall will see the bar is gone.  She decides to clear the other rooms along the north-south corridor.  Empty.

She lifts the bar, taking it with her as she eases the door open.  Inside Root lies on a cot.  Her hair’s matted and she’s unusually pale, even for her; blood loss kind of pale.  She’s either sleeping or unconscious or maybe a little of both.  Shaw takes the time to inventory her body before trying to wake her; otherwise Root will play down the injuries and the pain.

She’s riddled with contusions, a particularly nasty one across her chest, as well as abrasions too numerous to count.  Shaw notes the needle and burn marks.  But what concerns her most are the two abraded lacerations on her forehead and a laceration near the vertex of the scalp.

There’s no way she can get Root out the way she came in; not in her condition.  Like it or not she needs to leave Root alone a little longer.  She needs to recon the inside of the compound and there’s no doubt she’ll be leaving a trail of bodies behind. 

She goes out through the hole and creeps quietly to the front.  One of the guards is asleep on a bench leaning on his rifle.  The other’s smoking a cigarette.  By the time he realizes what hit him, she’s slit his throat and pulled him out of sight.  She's not concerned about killing any of these people.  She needs to move quietly and the throat slit, when possible, is about as silent as it gets.

She knocks the sleeping guard out with the butt of her gun and quickly drags him inside.  She needs a vehicle and a distraction big enough to give them time to get through the gate.

These militia guys are so predictable; humvees.  The good news is she’ll be able to lay Root down in the back.  The bad news is maximum speed is 55mph, 70 at best.  Not exactly a race car.  Several of the smaller jeeps can easily do 100mph.  With Root seriously injured she can’t be engaged in a gun fight.  Luckily there’s only a dozen or so in the compound.  She works her way around methodically, cutting the fuel lines of all the vehicles except the one closest to where she needs it.

No way do these guys not have a load of explosives stashed somewhere; time for some fireworks.  It takes her a long time and it’s pushing on 5am.  People will start to wake up soon.  Just when she’s about to give up she finds the shed.  All this concrete and they put the explosives in a wooden shed?  She shrugs her shoulders and gets to work.

She has five minutes.  She disables a few more of the guards as she makes her way back to Root.

She whispers and places a gentle hand on Root’s shoulder.  “Root, wake up.  We have to get you out of here.”  Root’s eyes flutter open, but she’s on some serious drugs.  Her pupils are pinpricks and she’s mostly incoherent.  “Sameen?  I knew you’d come…” she mumbles weakly. 

“Yeah...I’m going to get you out of here, but it might hurt.  A lot.”  Then she remembers Root’s been hurt far worse in the last few weeks than anything she’s going to feel now.  She might not feel anything at all with all the drugs in her system.  Either way, they have to go.

The next part will be the most dangerous.  She’ll have to carry Root to the humvee without getting spotted or they’re fucked.  She packs as many guns and grenades as she can secrete on her body and hauls Root up with a fireman’s carry.  Root doesn’t so much as whimper.

Shaw gets her situated as best she can, but it’s going to be a bumpy ride regardless.  She gets behind the wheel.  She needs to start in 30 seconds and race for the gate.  They can’t afford to be caught behind the explosions or they’ll be dead; either from the blast or the militia members.

She turns the key in the ignition, engaging the starter 15 seconds later.  She picks up speed and sees people stumbling out of the barracks half-dressed, but fully armed.  But she’s not worried about the guys behind her.  They’ll be running for their cars.  It’s the guards at the front gate that present the biggest threat.  Hopefully the windshield is bullet proof and they’re not packing a missile launcher.  They start shooting as soon as she’s in range, but just as the humvee hits the gate, the world explodes behind her.  She doesn’t slow down.

 

* * *

 

“Finch I need a medical chopper, otherwise Root probably won’t survive.”

“Ms. Shaw, I’m not sure…”

“I don’t want excuses Finch.”  She disconnects. She’s heading for the hospital she passed before, but unless they’re a trauma center, they’re not likely to have a chopper.  A minute later she gets a text.

She doesn’t pull up to the emergency bay; she cuts around to the loading dock.  She knocks out one of the workers and swipes his key card.  She slips in and ambushes an unsuspecting doctor for his lab coat.  A little big, but it’ll do.  She grabs one of the stretchers.  A few minutes later and they’re heading for the roof.

“Ms. Shaw.  The Machine alerted the pilots for an emergency transport to New York.  They’re in the hospital so they should already be there.  There will also be a flight nurse and doctor.”  Shaw doesn’t reply.  She doesn’t have words for how badly Finch and the Machine fucked up.  If she lets herself go down that road now, she’s afraid the rage will consume her.  She disconnects.  If it weren’t for the fact she’ll need him to arrange for Root’s care in New York, she’d throw her phone out the window.

The pilots are already doing their pre-checks and the doctor and nurse are on board.  Shaw lets them get situated.  “We don’t have room…” are the words the pilot starts to say, but it proves unnecessary.  Shaw pushes the doctor out the door without warning.  She slams the door shut and turns to the nurse.  “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”  The nurse just nods.  Shaw gives her credit; she doesn’t flinch.

 

* * *

 

They’re in the private wing of a small hospital in New Jersey.  Root needed surgeons and an operating room, so a clinic was out of the question.  The Machine arranged it.  Shaw’s been overseeing Root’s care all week.  It’s driving the doctor and nurses crazy but she doesn’t care.  She’s sleeping at Root’s bedside in a sleeper lounger she appropriated from the waiting room.  She’s never more than a shout away.  She’s banned Finch, but accepts whatever assistance the Machine provides to help Root. 

Reese comes by often to bring food and stoic support, which is all Shaw can handle right now.

There were complications.  Root had a severe liver laceration, flail chest and a fractured collarbone, which required surgery to realign. An infection was already raging in her blood from the untreated knife wounds and the burns had to be debrided.  She shouldn’t be alive.  But her chances improve with every day she survives.

On the seventh day Root opens her eyes.  Shaw’s standing by her bedside checking one of the IVs.  “Sam…”  Shaw almost jumps out of her skin.  She pages the doctors and feeds Root some ice chips.  Root tries for a trademark smile, but can’t quite manage it.  “Did you miss me?”  She whispers.  “It was about time you woke up,” Shaw replies gruffly.

Root’s too sore to manage much more than a grimace, but her eyes say everything she can’t.  She realizes Shaw’s been holding her hand since she woke up and she gives it a gentle squeeze; expecting Shaw to pull away.  She doesn’t.  The last thing Root sees when she drifts off is Shaw’s eyes filled with concern.

 

**A Week Later**

 

“If you want to leave this hospital you’re staying with me.  End of story.”  Shaw insists.  She’s stayed by Root the entire time she’s been recovering and Root’s worried at some point Shaw will implode.  “It’s okay, Sam.  I can stay at the subway and everyone can watch me, including Bear.”

“Your collarbone could take up to four months to heal.  You can’t sleep on that cot for that long and it’s not like we can drag a mattress in there!”  They’ve been arguing for an hour and then Shaw realizes she’s been going about this all wrong.  She smiles coyly, “Please Root, do it for me…”

“Cute…”  Root knows this is blatant manipulation but, theatrics aside, Shaw’s been insistent Root come stay with her and its obvious it does matter to her.  “Okay, just give me fair warning before you decide to push me out the window.”  Shaw’s eyes light up with triumph.  “I’d be more likely to throw you down the trash chute.”

Shaw makes things as comfortable for Root as possible given her sparse loft.  She pushes the bed against the wall so Root can use cushions to sit up and she moves the couch closer so Root can reach it easily; the TV gets turned towards the bed.  She insists Root wear a sling to remind her she can’t move her left shoulder. What she didn’t consider were the sleeping and bathing arrangements.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”  She tells Root firmly.  “Sameen it’s not like I’m in any condition to jump you…or vice versa…,” she smiles knowingly.  “The bed’s big enough for both of us.  I can only imagine how grumpy you’ll be if you end up spending weeks on the couch.  That would be dangerous for everyone.”

“Fine, but I’m putting cushions between us.”  Shaw hasn’t shared a bed for any longer than it takes to fuck since she left home.  It makes her itchy, even if it’s just Root.  Well actually, exactly because it _is_ Root.  Root smiles indulgently.

The next day Shaw helps a naked Root into the shower and practically runs out.  A few minutes later, she hears Root calling her.  When she stands at the door, Root’s standing with the shampoo bottle in her hand.  “I can’t exactly wash my hair yet sweetie; do you mind?”  Shaw rolls her eyes and scowls.  “Fine.”

“You’ve seen me naked before Sameen; no need to be shy.”

“Shut up or I’m leaving the shampoo in your hair.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering, who got me cleaned up while I was in the hospital?”  Shaw ignores her and Root laughs softly.  Shaw’s not sure she’ll be able to be so close to a naked Root every day and not succumb at some point; even if it’s just the couple of minutes it takes to wash her hair. 

 

* * *

 

A few days later Root knows they need to talk.  “Sameen, you can go work the numbers.  I’ll be okay here.”

“I know.”

“So what’s wrong?”  Shaw wishes she could find the words to explain the increasing compulsion she feels to hurt people.  She’s been running herself to exhaustion and working out like a fiend, but nothing quells the rage.  Root can read Shaw like no one else and she’s seen the tension building in the jerkiness of Shaw’s muscles and the flashes of fury in her eyes.

Root knows they need to talk about what happened; with the Machine and her captivity.  But Shaw hasn’t asked and Root hasn’t wanted to talk either.  But she needs to find a way to help Sameen get past it or its going to tear her up inside.

“We stopped them Sameen.” 

“If I didn’t go looking you’d be dead right now.”

“The Machine gave me a job to do; she didn’t say it would be easy.”

“Bullshit Root.  Sure, a mission can go sideways, which is why you need _backup_ ; She sent you out to stop a militia from acquiring and using several dirty bombs.  It’s the very definition of needing backup.”

“Sameen, there was no way She could’ve known there was nothing but a closed network in the compound, because She couldn’t see it.”

“No. But fine. Forget it.  What about when she lost contact with you?  It’d been _five weeks_ and she didn’t notify us so we could help you.  I guess She was waiting for your body to turn up somewhere,” she scoffs sarcastically.

Root sighs.  “She determined the risk you and Reese would die trying to rescue me unacceptable.”

“You know Root, as omniscient as She may be, She’ll never be able to fully gauge certain human characteristics; intuition, determination, perseverance, and sometimes just fucking stupid luck.  I found you.  I rescued you and I won’t say it was easy, but the only scratches I got were from crawling through those damn woods.  I didn’t _need_ Her and obviously She was _wrong_.  Isn’t this fight _exactly_ about humanity being able to make their own choices?  Shouldn’t it have been _my_ choice whether I went after you or not?”

“Nothing is more important than the mission Sam.  If we all die, that leaves Harold and it’s over.  There’s too much at stake to risk it all for one person.”

“It’s not just any person, it was you Root!”  Shaw shouts and slams the door on her way out.

'Well that went well,' Root thinks.

 

* * *

 

A couple of hours later Shaw comes back with takeout.  They eat in comfortable silence but Root can tell Shaw’s still angry.

“I need to know one thing Root; which one of them hurt you?”  The last thing Root wants is for Shaw to go after these men; especially now when whoever’s left is going to be on high alert.  “Sameen…”  But Shaw doesn’t let her finish as she slams her fist on the table.  “Who?”

Root doesn’t even startle, but sighs deeply.  If she doesn’t tell her Shaw will go anyway and the information might help her stay safe.  “They called him Brady.”

“Short skinny guy with a swagger?”

“Yeah.”

When Shaw is gone the next morning Root knows she’s gone after them.  She alerts the Machine so she can provide assistance and try to keep her safe.  The Machine informs her Reese went with Shaw.  That, Root didn’t expect.  They’re back four days later; Shaw’s a little worse for wear but nothing she hasn’t endured before.  Root knows better than to ask.  Shaw will tell her if and when she's ready.

 

* * *

 

That night Shaw’s filled with edgy energy.  She’s in the kitchen, when Root comes up behind her.  Shaw turns but she can’t walk away without pushing Root, who still can’t use her left arm.  So she sighs deeply instead. 

The smell of Root floods her senses; bringing back memories of the last time they were together.  When Shaw decided it would be the last time.  She told herself it was to protect Root, but really things between them had gotten too intense.  Her volume was screeching, so she did what’s always worked for her in the past.  She walked away.  Root stayed.

But every time she'd seen Root after that she’d had to fight the overwhelming temptation to just push her against the wall and take her, or if she were honest, be taken.  It didn’t help Root turned the flirtation banter full throttle.

Root pushes her body more firmly into hers and the heat intensifies.  She holds Shaw with piercing eyes, pupils dilated with desire; her right hand caressing the nape of Shaw’s neck.  She leans in slowly, eyes locked on Shaw’s; until they’re sharing one breath, her thigh between Shaw’s legs.  She tugs on Shaw’s lower lip gently and it’s her taste that obliterates all of Shaw’s defenses.

“Sameen…” she whispers slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them.  Shaw feels a smoldering heat inside as lust courses through her veins.  Then Root’s insistent mouth is parting her moist lips, sending wild tremors along her nerves, evoking fiery desire as only Root can do.  She digs her fingers into Root’s hips and there’s a moment of silence, like between lightning and thunder.  Lightning, once it's forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back.

Shaw’s resistance burns to the ground, packing up and taking a plane to Paris.

Her hands slip under the waistband of Root’s pajama bottoms, kneading her ass.  Root moans into her mouth.  They part, gasping, and Root tugs insistently on Shaw’s shirt.  Shaw takes the hint and flings her shirt off.  She’s not wearing a bra and Root’s stinging mouth latches on to her nipple while her hand tugs painfully on the other one.  Shaw hisses; she was already wet, but now she’s throbbing.

Root breathes hotly into Shaw’s ear.  “I’m going to fuck you now Sameen.  If you want me to stop, tell me now.”  Root’s hand is already slipping into her shorts and Shaw’s never been more grateful she’s commando.  Then Root bites the sensitive flesh where her shoulder meets her neck and Shaw can’t stop the growl from deep in her throat.

Root's fingers inch slowly towards Shaw’s sex and she strokes one finger up her soaking clit achingly lightly.  The combination of the pain at her neck and Root’s stroke at her clit merge and Shaw moans.  But Root doesn’t go any further, leaving her hand cupping Shaw’s pussy.

“What about now Sameen?  Do you want to walk away again?” She whispers.  Shaw grips Root’s ass hard enough to bruise.  She knows what Root wants.  It’s not for Shaw to beg per se, but rather to admit she wants Root as badly as Root wants her.  “No,” she admits with a strangled gasp.

“Then take off your shorts.”  Root doesn’t move her hand and Shaw complies hastily if a bit clumsily.  Root captures her mouth, teeth nipping sharply, tongue exploring demandingly.  She strokes her slit to just under her clit softly and Shaw thinks she’s going mad, her pussy aching to feel Root inside her, her eyes closed tightly.

Then Root’s gone suddenly and Shaw’s eyes shoot open.  Root’s eyes are devouring her.  “Up on the counter Sameen.”  Shaw pulls herself up.  “I want you to see me fucking you.  Keep your eyes on me or I stop.”  Shaw’s eyes are stormy desire, a splash of anger combined with her lust, just as Root intended.

Root kisses just above her clit and runs her tongue greedily around her folds, never quite giving Shaw what she needs desperately.  Shaw throws her head back trying to take a breath and calm the craving devouring her.  “Uh, uh Sameen.  Eyes on me.”  This is the other part of Root’s game.  She insists Shaw maintain eye contact, so she can’t hide and can’t pretend.

Shaw feels Root’s thumb settle on her clit, pressing firmly but not moving.  “Tell me what you want.”

“Just…fuck…me,” Shaw growls, but it’s tinged with yearning and something else Shaw doesn’t recognize although Root does.

She slides three fingers into Shaw slowly, stroking her g-spot for a second before pulling out again.  She thrusts unhurriedly while Shaw falls apart.  Shaw’s trying to thrust against her hand, but Root just moves with the momentum, changing nothing.  She might only have the use of one hand, but she knows how to use it skillfully.

“Root…!”  Shaw bites off the please on the tip of her tongue.  But a second later she wonders why the fuck it matters.  “Please…”

Root’s next thrust includes another finger and she starts fucking Shaw in earnest; her thumb pulsing on Shaw’s clit while her fingers stroke her velvety walls, hitting just the right spot at just the right time.  “I’m going to fist you now Sameen, but you better not come until I let you.”  Shaw’s so far gone, it doesn’t matter what Root wants as long as she doesn’t stop.

Shaw’s so wet and hot and open, Root slips her elegant hand in with one thrust.  Then the fucking begins in earnest and Shaw’s howling.  Root bites hard on her thigh, feeling the blood pooling beneath her tongue and is rewarded with more evidence of Shaw’s arousal.  She watches Shaw’s face, mesmerized by the sight of Shaw coming undone for her.

Root’s giving Shaw short back-and-forth thrusts when Shaw gasps.  “Harder!”  So on the next thrust Root pushes a little harder and Shaw moans.  She’s trying to keep her eyes open, but she’s only partially successful.  “I love to see my fist inside of you Sameen, your body gripping me.  Taking you the way you’ve never let anyone else.  You feel so tight.  So good; giving it all up for me.”

Shaw will never admit it but the things Root says to her when they’re having sex turn her on as much as what she’s doing.  It’s like Root is in her mind.  No matter what Shaw wants or needs, she knows Root will give it to her.  Shaw relinquishes her control and she trusts Root; the way she’s never trusted anyone.  Root’s right about that.

“Come for me Sameen.”  With those words Root bends down and sucks on Shaw’s clit rhythmically.  Shaw’s orgasm rips through her body, the next one coming on the heels of the first.  Root fucks her through it and Shaw loses track of how many times she comes, but as some point she realizes Root’s fucking her with only four fingers.

Root slows down and switches to two fingers, still fucking Shaw but softer.  She gentles Shaw through it, but stays inside for a minute; feeling Shaw twitching around her fingers as she places sloppy kisses on her thighs.

Gradually, Root realizes she may have gotten a little carried away and her shoulder aches.  Badly.  Root can withstand a lot of pain, but this feels excruciating.  Shaw hears her wince and drags herself up, so lethargic she could fall asleep on the hard counter easily.

Root kisses her and she’s too weak to stop the soft strokes and gently tugging, which is why Root knows she can get away with it.  But she does love to taste herself in Root’s mouth.  Root pulls away sooner than she otherwise would and that’s when it registers with Sameen’s sluggish brain that Root’s hurting.

She slides off the counter, finding Root’s pain pills, which Root gulps down with a glass of water.  They make it to the bed and fall exhausted, finally no cushions between them.

 

* * *

 

Root wakes to a delicious sensation between her legs.  Shaw’s running her tongue up and down her slit, circling her clit, then dipping inside.  She moans softly and Shaw intensifies her efforts.  Root doesn’t talk much when she’s on the receiving end but the sounds she makes…they tear into Shaw’s flesh claiming every inch of her, narrowing her focus to just Root and the sounds.  The sound of her name on Root’s lips…no one’s ever said her name that way.

Root tastes and smells sweet and so uniquely her, Shaw’s never found a word to describe it without resorting to some cheesy cliché; Shaw doesn’t do those.

She grips Root’s thighs and now she’s tongue fucking her in earnest.  “Sameen…”  Root grabs the sheets in her fist, trying to remember not to lean on her bad shoulder.  But Shaw’s moving slowly for just that reason and Root feels her orgasm approaching from far off.  Shaw trades her tongue for one finger pumping in and out gently, hitting Root’s g-spot with every stroke.

She wraps her lips around Root’s clit and mouths her soothingly, her tongue running just under Root’s hood, coaxing her clit out, and then stroking it sensually as she feels Root’s muscles tightening around her finger.  “Sameen…baby that feels so good.”  Root hums.  Shaw pretends she doesn’t hear the endearment or she’d have to admit she thinks it’s hot; but only when they’re fucking.

When Shaw’s inside her Root feels connected. The way Shaw reads her body; even from the first time.  The way she touches her…she knows when Root wants it slow and when she needs it hard, which isn’t often, but somehow Shaw always knows.

Shaw can feel Root trembling beneath her mouth.  “yes…yes…ahhh…right there baby, right there”  Shaw’s not really thrusting anymore just rubbing Root’s g-spot while she licks her clit purposefully.  She feels Root’s orgasm as it hits and keeps up her gentle ministrations until she feels Root’s muscles relax.

Shaw crawls up the bed and lies on her back next to Root catching her breath.  “You can wake me up like that anytime, sweetie.”  Shaw rolls her eyes but there’s a smile at the corner of her mouth.

There’s a knock on the door and Shaw scowls.  “What the fuck…”  She swings out of bed heading for the door.  “Uh, Sameen…”  Shaw looks back annoyed.  “You’re naked sweetie.” Shaw looks down like she thinks Root’s lying then exhales sharply.  She looks around and grabs the nearest item of clothing, Root’s shirt.  It’s long enough to reach her thighs, but just barely.  Meanwhile Root’s naked on the bed with only the sheet covering her.  They both look like they’ve been fucking.

Shaw grabs her gun and flings the door open, pointing it at whoever is on the other side.  Reese.  His eyes dart from Shaw’s near nakedness to Root’s poorly concealed body on the bed.  He can’t seem to find a spot to focus on.

“So are you here to gawk or is there a point to this visit?”  Shaw asks sardonically.  Reese’s holding a box of pastries and finally focuses his stoic gaze on her eyes, a slight smile on his lips.  “Well Shaw, if I’d known you were in the midst of providing physical therapy to your patient I wouldn’t have interrupted.”  Shaw slams the door in his face, but not before she grabs the box.

Root’s trying hard not to laugh but fails.  “You think the big lug will recover?”

“Whatever.”

The fact Shaw doesn’t seem the least perturbed by Reese catching them not exactly ‘in the act’ but certainly obviously ‘post act’ tells Root all she needs to know.   


End file.
